


Pride & Stubbornness & Wights

by obsessivewriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gendrya Big Bang, Mutual Pining, Zombies, gendrya big bang 2020, lightly inspired by pride & prejudice & zombies, warrior couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivewriter/pseuds/obsessivewriter
Summary: Despite her many complaints, lady Catelyn Stark could not dissuade her lord husband from sending their second daughter to foster in Bear Island with the Mormont girls, long known for being wild, and mayhaps even part wilding. Now that Arya has flowered, and that a visit from House Baratheon to the North has called for a feast and a ball, Arya and her foster family have been summoned to Winterfell, along with Jon, coming from the Wall with disturbing news regarding sightings of wights.Once she gets home, Arya will meet Gendry Baratheon, highly distrustful of highborns, despite his recent change of status. She will have to figure out where she fits in her mother’s plans of marriage prospects for her daughters, her father’s commitment to the North, an unlikely friendship, and the threat of the army of the dead breaching the Wall.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 128
Kudos: 265





	1. A sword for a ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liv_Hates_Olives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liv_Hates_Olives/gifts).



> I cannot believe I am actually posting my Grendya Big Bang fic. 
> 
> This will be a three-parter posted daily. 
> 
> I have to do a shout-out to my amazing artist friend Liv (@Liv_Hates_Olives) for being such an amazing collaborator. I have to say that Liv gave me all these ideas while we talked about the art, and I wouldn't have been able to write this fic if it wasn't for her. 
> 
> I also want to thank the anon who sent me the prompt of using the quote from Pride & Prejudice & Zombies. 
> 
> In this story there are no direwolves, I'm sorry about that, but I just couldn't fit them in, and also, no Night King. 
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it!

[ ](https://imgur.com/yke0Y8Z)

The journey home from Bear Island had already taken close to two moon turns by the time the deep forest came to a clearing, and Arya was able to see the tall towers of Winterfell. Her heart seemed to soar at the sight of her home, prompting her to lean forward and make her mare break into a canter.

"Eager to get home, _little wolf_?" Dacey Mormont called, as she caught up to her.

"It's been too long, Dace."

"What are you waiting for, then? Go on, we'll catch up."

That was all she needed to hear, and after looking back to give a brief nod to the rest of her foster Mormont sisters, she spurred her horse into a hard gallop.

It didn't take long to make it to the Hunter's Gate, where the guards waved her in as she went by. When she reached the stables, the servant boy had barely gotten the reign of her mare, when she jumped to dismount. 

"Where did you leave your _bear_ _sisters_?" Bran called from atop the kennels, perched on a ledge.

"What did you expect? They're bears, couldn't quite keep up with a wolf," she yelled back to her brother.

"There is still enough wolf in you, then?" Robb called, as he walked to her.

When her older brother reached her, Arya could see how Robb was now a man grown. He still looked like himself with his auburn locks and Tully blue eyes that had always had the kitchen girls swooning, but he had a short reddish beard and a more rugged face. 

He embraced her long, and Arya felt the weight of how long she had been away.

"I'll never be anything but a wolf," she said as they parted.

"Good. Mother and Father are desperate to see you. They got word you were coming as soon as the guards in the watchtower could spot you."

It had been five long namedays since Arya had set foot in her home, but walking through Winterfell, she could feel as if no time had passed at all, with the only exception being her increased height. Still, she barely came up to her brother's chest, but she had no trouble keeping up with his brisk pace as they crossed the courtyard on the way to the Main Keep, where her parents were waiting for her in their solar. 

"Go on," Robb instructed her.

"Are you not coming in?"

"Both you and they have been apart for far too long, you should go on your own," Robb said with a wink.

As she opened the door, she found her father by his desk, reading parchments, and her mother sitting next to him, with her eyes engrossed on her embroidering. 

It was silly, she thought. She had never felt the homesickness as strongly when she was in Bear Island as she did right there and noticed a bit more grey in her parents' hair and more lines around their eyes. 

"Arya!" her mother yelled when her eyes lifted, and she noticed her daughter. Catelyn threw her project to the side, and in a way that was entirely out of character, she ran to embrace Arya.

"I missed you too, mother."

"No love for your old father, _my little pup_?" her father spoke, making both women turn towards him and smile.

"Father," she called then, pulling away just enough from her mother's arms, to have her father hold them both.

"It's been too long, you should never have sent my girl so far, and for so long, Ned!" Cat reprimanded her husband, with a playful swat to his arm.

"We've written to each other, mother, it is not as if I died, and only now I've come back to life."

"I know, _sweetling_ , but I missed being able to hear your voice."

"Where is everyone else? I've seen Bran and Robb, but not the rest."

"Rickon is out practicing archery with Theon, Sansa is in the sewing room, giving the finishing touches to her gown for the feast. She has made something for you, so you need to let her measure you to make alterations. She did it all by guesswork from the last time she saw you. And Jon should be here in a few days."

"Jon is really coming?" Arya asked, and her parents could see how much her face lit up at the mention of her favorite brother. "I wasn't sure the Night's Watch would allow him."

"We're lucky there is important Night's Watch business that required an envoy. Both Jon and Benjen will be here to talk with the princes and the rest of the Northern houses," her father explained.

Her mother, with her arm still around her shoulders, asked her, "Are you hungry, my love? I could ask the kitchens to send something to your chamber and draw you a bath, I am sure you are desperate to get out of those riding breeches."

"Sounds good, but no need to send for food, I'll head to the kitchens myself, it will be nice to say hi to everyone."

"You haven't changed," her mother said, and Arya wasn't entirely sure if she meant it as a compliment or resignation.

"Not one bit."

"Good," said her father. "I'm glad to get my wolf back."

"And soon, we'll have the whole pack under the same roof, Ned," his wife added.

"I shall go to the godswood to thank the old gods, then. You go to your sept to thank the Seven, Cat. I'm certain that such a blessing demands our gratefulness to be split between the old and the new."

* * *

Arya found Theon and Rickon on her way to the kitchens.

Theon looked the same, but her little brother was almost as tall as her at only one and ten. Something ached a little in her heart, noticing just how much she had missed. All the years with the Mormonts, she still thought of Rickon as a babe, even if he had been six and entirely too wild for his own good when she left.

After a stop at the kitchens to grab something to eat, Arya headed back towards her chamber. As she was about to enter and ask for help with her bath, her sister Sansa came down the hallway.

"Were you not going to look for me to say hello?"

Her sister was as she remembered her, tall and poised, but the way she walked with her hands intertwined in front of her, made Arya realize how much she looked like their lady mother. 

"I was, once I took my bath and got out of these dirty clothes," she explained, hugging her sister. "I was just trying to save you having to smell days-worth of riding sweat."

"Oh, shush! I haven't seen you in five namedays, I can handle your stench," Sansa said as they parted. "But don't lie, I'm sure you were trying to avoid meeting me in the sewing room. Mother surely told you I needed to have you try on the gown I made for you." 

"Oh, not at all, dear sister. I just wanted to smell nice for you, and avoid me soiling your hard work with all the sweat and dust from my travels."

"Fair enough. Go inside, I'll have Alys get you boiling water, the copper tub should already be set in your room."

Arya did as her sister said, more because she looked forward to the bath, after such a taxing journey, and not because she would just do as Sansa ordered, she reminded herself. Inside, the tub was already in the middle of the chamber, filled halfway, waiting only for the couple buckets of boiling water. 

She got reacquainted with her room as she waited for Alys, noticing that everything was as she had left it all those years before. It was clear it had been recently freshened for her, and a good fire was already burning in the hearth. Arya placed her hand on the stone wall, and she rejoiced at feeling the warm veins of her home, pumping the heat through the keep. Bear Island had been lovely, and she had been grateful to her father for suggesting she foster with the Mormonts. She didn't want to imagine what it would have been if she had been sent to the Vale with her aunt Lysa, to the Reach with the Tyrells, or worse, to King's Landing where her uncle Robert was King of the Seven Kingdoms. Bear Island had meant freedom to hunt and fight, as every Mormont girl did, but home was home. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by her sister, who came in with a servant girl, carrying buckets of boiling hot water. Once it was poured in, Alys left after a curtsey, and Sansa tested the temperature and poured aromatic healing herbs in the bath.

Arya took her boots off as her sister finished preparing her bath. Standing up, she asked, "Are you going to stay while I bathe?"

"Do you mind? It's been so long since I've seen you. And if I remember correctly, you have never been shy about bathing in front of me."

Arya shrugged and started untying her belt and scabbard, placing her sword on her bed.

"So you _do_ bathe without your Needle. It's good to know, for a moment, I wondered if you wore it while you bathed and slept."

"And have my sword rust? Not a chance. Now, for sleeping with her? The only thing I will say is that she is never out of my reach," she responded without missing a beat and continued disrobing until she was only in her smallclothes.

Sansa gave a sigh, and sat on the chair near the tub, looking at the fire, while her sister finished getting naked.

"Does this mean I have to make adjustments to your gown so you can wear your sword by your hip?"

"Did you expect any different?"

"You do know that besides the princes coming on official business, Mother counts on arranging betrothals for us, right?"

"To the princes?" Arya asked with a look of concern as she lowered herself in the tub.

"Don't be stupid! Not to the princes. And anyways, Stannis is already married, and Renly… Well, there is much gossip that he is not getting married soon, _or ever_."

"Are Mother and Father looking for betrothals to Northern houses then? I heard that the rest of the guests are from the North."

"Well, some other Southern lords will be accompanying the princes, so there is great opportunity to make good marriage alliances."

" _Great_ ," Arya said without enthusiasm.

"Now, I do not know what kind of alliance they will be able to make having you prance around with your sword at your hip."

"Somehow, that doesn't really bother me."

"There will be a time when you will have to trade that sword for a ring, you know?" Sansa pointed out, leaning in to show how serious she was.

"I shall never relinquish my sword for a ring," Arya replied, leaning in herself.

"For _the right man,_ you would."

" _The right man_ wouldn't ask me to," Arya answered with a smile that enraged her sister, and she leaned back, crossing her arms behind her head and letting her eyes close.

* * *

It took a sennight still, before her brother Jon and their uncle Benjen arrived from the Wall, and yet, the Stormlands party hadn't reached Winterfell yet. After greeting her uncle Benjen, Arya smiled and ran to her favorite brother's arms. 

Jon was the son of her late aunt Lyanna, but they had been raised as siblings. Arya had always wondered if their bond came from how they were the only ones to have gotten the Stark look, but somehow she always knew it had to be more than that. Of all her family, Arya had seen Jon more recently, but still, she noticed how his features were more hardy than the last time she saw him, the years at the Wall and beyond, making him look a bit older than his years. 

Benjen let them get reacquainted and headed towards the lord's solar, to reunite with his own brother.

"You're late," Arya chided Jon as they parted.

"Is that the way to greet the brother that you have not seen in… how many namedays? Two?"

"At least I saw you more than I saw everybody else, but only because Lord Commander Mormont sent you to Bear Island."

"I may be a man of the Night's Watch, but I am still your brother, you know?"

"Tell that to the many crows I have to share you with."

They both laughed.

"You've grown," he said with a hand on her head, which she quickly swatted away.

"You haven't."

"Are you a bear now?"

"I'm fond of bears, and bears have taught me plenty, but I'm still a wolf, through and through."

"Are you happy to be back?"

"I'm happy to be back in Winterfell, yes, though I can't say that I'm happy about the reason we were summoned here."

Jon grinned widely, noting that his little sister was still the one from his memories.

"You're not looking forward to meeting the Stormlands envoy?"

"A bunch of stags that keep crossing horns to figure out who will get the throne after King Robert? Why would I?"

Jon didn't say anything and continued smiling her way. Despite it looking innocent enough, Arya knew her brother well enough to know what he meant.

"That's _not_ me, Jon, that's Sansa."

"Not completely sure she's keen after the Joffrey debacle."

It had been a cruel awakening for their sister, her fairytale dreams of marrying a prince all crushed when she realized the monster that Joffrey was. Thankfully, Cersei's incest and deceit, passing hers and her brother's children as the king's heirs meant that Sansa would not be sentenced to a life of abuse with Joffrey as her husband, nor the Seven Kingdoms be doomed to having him as king.

"She wants a match, just not an heir to the Seven Kingdoms," Arya explained.

"Who's heir to the Seven Kingdoms? I thought it was discovered Robert doesn't have any children, at least not any legitimate ones," Jon asked since he didn't get as much news up at the Wall as they did in Winterfell.

Their brother Robb had walked up to them and greeted his brother with a pat on his back.

"Didn't you hear?" Robb asked, joining their conversation. "Robert remarried only three moon turns ago, and he's busy planting his heir in his new wife's belly."

Arya spoke then, "That is a long time before he has an heir of age. If something were to happen to him…"

"Hence the importance of his brothers' visit."

"I wonder how many Northern ladies would be excited to meet Renly since he's still unmarried," Jon added.

Robb snickered and said, "And he'll continue to be unmarried."

"Is that so?"

"You know the talk," Arya contributed, shaking her head at her brother.

"Well, they will be coming with the new princes," Robb declared.

Arya had not heard anything about any new princes.

"New princes?"

"Didn't you two get any news up there in the wild?" Robb asked, grinning smugly at knowing something his siblings didn't. "Because Robert only just married, he has legitimized two of his bastards, in case he and his new wife don't make a new male heir soon. If he does, those two will come after any children produced in his new marriage. I believe the eldest is two and twenty, and the other is nine and ten."

Arya groaned, realizing the implications. 

"So this means everyone and their uncle is sending eligible young ladies to parade in front of these new heirs, isn't it?"

Both her brothers grinned at her reaction, knowing her intense dislike for high society events, in particular those related to matchmaking for political alliance. 

Robb commented further, "We expect not only guests from the Northern houses for the ball, but noble houses from the Vale and the Riverlands will also be sending their young sisters and daughters hoping to catch a stag."

"Great."

* * *

It took one more fortnight for the princes to arrive at Winterfell. As they lined up to greet them, Arya was able to see the new legitimized Baratheons. They looked alike, with the classic Baratheon features present, black hair, blue eyes, broad and tall. The younger one, with big Florent ears, seemed more at ease greeting his Northen hosts, but the older one had a stern look and only responded with one-word answers. Arya felt an instant dislike for the man, interpreting his monosyllabic speech as disdain for the North. 

They were introduced as Gendry, the older and grumpier one, and Edric, the big-eared one. Arya noticed Prince Gendry staring at the blade hanging at her hip, and her dislike for the new prince grew tenfold at his apparent disapproval of her carrying a weapon. 

Once everyone had been dismissed, Arya thought that at least she wouldn't have to deal with the surly prince much, mayhaps exchange a few pleasantries during meals, and then, during the big feast and ball, he'd be busy entertaining possible brides. But to her surprise, the very next day, as she was practicing her water dance at dawn, a low voice interrupted her concentration.

"That _toothpick_ is too small for you."

She was quick to turn to find the Baratheon prince, wearing simple clothes, and staring at her with his arms crossed.

"It's not a _toothpick_ ," Arya replied with annoyance. "If you must know, it's a Braav-,"

"A _Braavosi rapier_. I know. One too small for someone your age. How old were you when you received it? Five?"

Arya was mad.

"For your information, I was eight."

"Well, given your height, it makes sense, but even if you are tiny, the blade is too small."

Arya lifted her chin and replied, "And I imagine you find fault at my wielding a weapon as well. Should I be in the kitchen or in the sewing room as well?"

"It's not my business where you choose to be," Gendry responded with a shrug.

"But it's your business to say that my weapon is unfitting, _your grace_?"

"It is if you mind not having more reach to get your opponent, or more force in your attacks because of the weight imbalance."

"And how would you know this?" Arya asked, sneering. "Are you going to tell me that you are an expert in the water dance?"

"No, I wouldn't know anything about it, and I'm sure you'd have me on my back in two breaths if I attempted to spar with you."

The glint in his eye and his lopsided smile at the double meaning of his words angered her even more.

"What qualifies you as an expert then, _Prince Gendry_?"

He chortled at her tone.

"What's so funny?"

"The way you say _your grace_ or _Prince Gendry_. Those words sound dirty coming out of your mouth."

The prince seemed to fixate on her lips as he spoke of them.

"Aren't those your proper titles?"

"Maybe, until about six moon turns ago. My life before was quite different from your fancy life, _m'lady._ "

The way he said _m'lady_ made it clear to Arya that it wasn't long that the prince had been lowborn.

"Don't call me that. And you haven't answered my question."

"What should I call you then?"

"Arya."

"Well, _Arya_. I was a blacksmith and an armorer before the king was in dire need of some grown heirs. And I would have continued to be if his Lannister wife hadn't been more fond of her brother than the fat fuck who planted me in my mother's belly."

Gendry noticed how her big doe eyes opened even more but surely offended at the crassness of his words. 

"A blacksmith?"

"Aye. And a _damn good one_ , if you don't mind me saying. It is a waste of everyone's time trying to have me all dolled up in lordly clothes, memorizing sigils and house words, and scolding me about how atrocious my handwriting is when my time could be spent far better in a smithy. Even more when everyone knows that the moment King Robert gets his trueborn heir, Edric and I will be send packing."

Arya arched her eyebrows and smiled.

"You may not have been raised as a Baratheon, but has anyone told you that you are as cocky as the king himself?"

Gendry doubled over in laughter, and once he calmed down, he said, "Not really, but it is not cockiness, m'… Arya. I really _am_ that good."

"Pity, I just have your word to go by."

"Why would you? You don't have a proper forge in this fancy castle of yours?" He asked, looking around.

"Do you expect me to ask a crown prince to forge me a new blade?"

"Mayhaps this calls for a wager."

"What will I win, if you are unable to produce a sword, finer than my Needle?"

" _Needle_ , huh?" He asked, extending his hand to ask for the sword.

Arya took a moment to consider it, but she did hand her most prized possession to the prince.

"I was always told that needlework was a proper pastime for a decent lady."

"I like your sense of humor," he explained as he studied the rapier. "Now, if I am unable to prove my worth as a smith, you'll have a newly-named prince who can barely write as your slave for a fortnight."

"That's generous. Aren't you afraid of losing?"

"I'm just making it worth your while," he replied, "and no, I'm not worried when I know what I'm capable of."

"And if I lose, what will I have to pay? Will I be expected to be enslaved by your grace?"

The man smiled, and Arya thought that he looked like a whole different person from the scowling prince introduced to her family. 

"No, nothing like that. Something better."

"What could be better than that?" Arya inquired, with one raised eyebrow.

"Being my dance partner, at the ball. For no less than five dances."

Arya felt the bother in her gut but worked hard to not let it reach her face.

"Deal," she said at the end, offering her hand for a shake, which the prince was quick to take, pulling her a bit towards him.

"I must warn you, though," Arya added. "I am a terrible dancer."

"Fair enough, but I have worse news for you."

"And what's that?"

"I have never danced before."

* * *

After taking her Needle back and sheathing it in her scabbard, Arya showed Gendry to the Winterfell forge, where Mikken was busy with some horseshoes. 

"Lady Arya! You are a sight for sore eyes!"

"It's good to see you too, Mikken."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Something wrong with your Needle?"

"Not at all," she replied, but then behind her, Gendry cleared his throat, reminding her why they were there. 

"I have a small favor to ask, though. This big oaf behind me is convinced I've outgrown my Needle, and he has wagered he can make me a better blade. Would you mind having him work in your smithy, so he can lose the bet, and I earn myself a slave?" 

Mikken finally paid attention to the man behind Arya.

"You're a smith, boy?"

"I was, in King's Landing."

"You came with the princes then? I wonder why they thought they needed to bring their own smith."

"They didn't," Gendry responded. "I was dragged here for worse reasons."

Arya decided against explaining to Mikken who Gendry was, intrigued about why he had chosen to keep his identity hidden.

"And what would those be?"

"Well, the queen tried to pass her incest bastards as the king's true children, and the king was forced to legitimize some bastards of his own," Gendry responded nonchalantly.

Mikken suddenly realized who he was talking to, once he remembered what Mara, one of the cooks, had gossiped about a couple of days before.

"Your grace! I'm terribly sorry, I cannot believe I didn't realize it was you."

"Don't worry, and please don't call me your grace. The name is Gendry. I should be calling you master instead."

"No need, please, make yourself at home in the smithy."

"So, I believe you made Arya's Needle, is that right?"

"I did, your… Gendry. Her brother Jon commissioned it."

"It's a work of art."

"Thank you, and you are right, she requires a bigger sword by now."

Gendry just looked at Arya and smirked at the way she rolled her eyes.

"Fair enough," Gendry replied, pulling his sleeves back. "I'll get started then. Don't let me keep you, m'lady. I'm sure you have far more important things to do than watch us smiths work."

"Do not call me that!" Arya yelled, and turning around, she left in a huff.

* * *

The next time Arya saw Gendry was during supper. It was at least another sennight until the ball was to be, as more houses representatives were still to come. In the meantime, Robb and her father had been meeting with Stannis and Renly, discussing hard topics, as Arya noticed that her father looked tired every night, and her brother Robb had lost his cheery disposition. 

Jon and Benjen had also been meeting with her father, and Jon seemed stressed about something related to the Night's Watch business they had been sent to treat with the Warden of the North. 

At least during supper, conversations were light, with her mother and Sansa giving updates to the feast and ball's to come. 

The Mormont sisters had arrived safely at Winterfell a day after Arya. Since then, Arya had divided her time between indulging her true sister in her many tailoring sessions for her ball gown and sparring with her foster sisters. Though she hated being made to stand on a small table with her arms spread, while Sansa pushed hundreds of pins through the blue fabric, she enjoyed having that time to talk with her mother and sister. 

"Are we almost done? My arms feel like they are going to fall off."

"Do not start!" her sister admonished her. "When Syrio first started training you years ago, he'd had you standing on one leg for hours on the training yard, so do not tell me this is harder than that."

"Well, at least I wasn't stuffed in a gown that was a torturing - _Ouch!_ \- contraption!"

"Girls," their mother said, not really upset with their squabbling, as they could see her grinning widely at the both of them. "Is it horrible of me to be enjoying this? Now that I have both my girls with me once more, it feels like no time has gone by."

It was that night that Gendry was seated next to Arya for supper, and while she moved her spoon around the vegetable soup, the prince interrupted her thoughts. 

"Who got you this annoyed? I mean, besides me?"

"Huh?"

"Your shoulders are tense, and you have a bigger scowl than mine. I haven't been bothering you while you have been sparring with the wild bears."

Arya's spoon fell noisily on the table right before she spoke, "Have you been spying on me?"

"No, _m'lady_. None of that. I have been busy in the smithy working on a certain sword, and it is not my fault if the training yard just so happens to be in direct sight."

One of Arya's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"Mikken hasn't kicked you out yet?"

"Contrarily to what you may believe, Mikken and I have developed a friendship based on our common love for steel." 

"I thought you would have lost your interest in that."

"And lose the wager? Never."

Arya simply shrugged her shoulders.

"So, what is it then?"

"Gown tailoring."

"What the _fuck_ is that?"

"Wearing the gown my sister made for me while I was away when her wishful thinking convinced her that I would be closer to her height. And so, she has to torture me with pins while she alters the gown."

"Is this your dress for the ball?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

Arya scrunched up her face and said, "What is there to say? It's a _gown_."

"Are you talking about the ball?" Sansa interrupted them.

"Yes, my lady," Gendry replied, turning to face Sansa, and Arya noticed the effort he put in enunciating the last two words separately.

"Please, your grace, call me Sansa."

Gendry shrugged and said, "Sure, if you never call me _'your grace'_ again."

Arya rolled her eyes at the exchange.

"What are you rolling your eyes for?" Sansa questioned her sister.

"It's just me," Gendry was quick to reply. "I annoy your sister a lot."

"Your… _Gendry_ , my sister is very easily annoyed, I'm sure she has already told you about our sewing session earlier this morning. I'm just surprised that she hasn't put you off us Northerners with her attitude."

"Oh, not at all, _Sansa_."

"If anything, is quite the opposite," Gendry's brother Edric intervened.

"What's that?" Arya asked, perking up.

"My brother has spoken more since arriving at Winterfell than all the moon turns I have known him."

"Shut up, Edric!" Gendry berated his brother.

"Oh, _do not_ shut up, Edric!" Arya contradicted him. 

"Is it just me, or it seems our siblings seem to have suddenly developed new personality traits since they've met, lady Sansa?" the big-eared Baratheon asked.

"I think you are onto something, your grace."

" _Edric_ , please."

Sansa seemed to blush a little, and she nodded with a small smile, the one Arya knew to be the perfect, ladylike, demure one. After that, both their siblings seemed to forget about Arya and Gendry, engaged in an animated conversation.

"Well, at least now they are not interested in us," Gendry pointed out, nudging Arya's shoulder with his own.

"You being here may have some perks, after all."

He grinned widely, the same way he had at Mikken's forge.

"Wait until you see the sword I'm making."

"I'm waiting with _bated_ breath," Arya replied with thick sarcasm.

"Anyways, tell me why you are so annoyed about this gown of yours."

"Well, to start, it is a _gown_."

"You don't like dresses?"

"I like _dresses_ . I despise _gowns_."

Gendry's eyes narrowed, and Arya thought she could almost see the cogs in his head moving.

"What's the difference? I thought they were the same."

"Well, they are," Arya replied with a shrug. "But when you talk about a dress, it is simply a garment you wear, just like breeches, or tunics. When people start talking about gowns, the point is not to cover your naked body or keep you from freezing. It is about the embroidering, the boning, and the lacing, and how much it will show your hips and your teats, and that's when it starts bothering me! Because no one ever talks about a gown for going horseback riding or a gown that you can pair with your scabbard to hold your sword. I have no problem wearing dresses, as long as they don't stop me from running, hunting, and water dancing!"

At the end of her rant, Arya turned to see Gendry coughing loudly.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Something went the wrong way…" he explained as best as he could, trying to cover the fact that Arya's rant had surprised him, and got him to imagine things that were very impolite while seating at Lord Stark's table. 

"Anyways. It's a beautiful gown, as all the gowns that Sansa makes are. It's just that when I look at myself at the mirror, in that beautiful blue wool, and all her hard work at embroidering our house's sigils, it's just not me who I see in the mirror."

"Would it help if you had your sword at your hip?"

"It would be a start," Arya replied, and Gendry could see the spark of a flame in her eyes.


	2. A bloody work of art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for the ball arrives, and for a winner to be decided in Arya and Gendry's wager. Everything would be much simpler if Arya's worries were only about her gown for the ball and the fear of losing the bet, but on top of everything else, there is that pesky horde of corpses she just heard her father mention to her brothers and uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is part 2. Hope you like it!

After supper was finished, all the guests were shown to the drawing-room, where they could share some Dornish red that Prince Renly had brought from the south, allowing everyone to mingle less formally. 

Many of the newly-arrived young ladies had been interested in being introduced to the two young princes, which Arya noticed made Gendry uneasy. He clammed up, going back to how she had seen him when he had been introduced to the Starks. It was evident just how uncomfortable he felt as the young ladies blushed as they flirted shamelessly. 

"Come this way," Arya said, pulling him by the arm, and showing him away from the room, going through less known passageways in the keep.

No one besides Renly noticed the pair sneaking out of the room, and one well-groomed eyebrow rose as he observed them. Just that morning, as they broke their fast, Edric made him aware of how Gendry seemed to lose his communication impediments when he was in the presence of the young Lady Stark.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Gendry asked, letting her drag him through her home.

"My chambers."

"How forward of you, _m'lady_."

"I know you can say ' _my lady'_ as you clearly called my sister earlier, why do you keep calling me that?"

Gendry planted his feet on the ground, forcing Arya to turn around with her hand still holding his.

"Would you rather I called you _my_ lady?"

Arya felt her cheeks warm a bit at the double meaning of his words. 

"I rather you didn't call me either of those things," she replied dismissively, letting go of his hand and turning around trying to feign indifference. "My name is Arya."

"Fine, _Arya_."

Gendry felt something warm spreading in his chest as she turned back to look at him and smile when he said her proper name. Even more, when she reached for his hand to lead him through the keep once more.

When they made it to her private chambers, Arya let him in, and then barred the door after them.

"Someone may get the wrong idea if they saw me entering your chambers, and found out the door is barred."

"I'm armed, and I'm far better than you with a sword. If I wanted, you'd be on your back with my blade on your neck before you could call for your guards," Arya warned him.

Gendry had never been one to overindulge in the taverns, drinking, and gambling, as his old Flea Bottom acquaintances used to do. Still, he could recognize in himself the growing thrill that bantering with Arya caused him. He very well knew that it was a slippery slope taking him straight to his doom, but that didn't seem to dissuade him in any way.

"If you think that kills the mood, you are sorely mistaken," he replied, unable to stop himself.

Arya ignored his comment, but Gendry was able to see a faint blush on her cheeks. Undoubtedly, he could attribute it to their fast pace running the stairs that led to the family wing in the Main Keep, but he chose to believe it was more than that, and his teasing was on target as much as every dagger he had seen her throw since he arrived at Winterfell.

"And what would the Lady Stark do now that she has me in her chambers?"

"You are terribly smug for someone I just saved from being mauled by rabid highborn ladies ready to bear his heirs."

Gendry took a deep breath and forced himself to sober his thoughts a bit.

"I'm sorry if I don't look grateful enough. _I am_. I loathe these highborn events and all those people looking at me like a juicy piece of steak."

"We think quite highly of ourselves, don't we?"

Gendry shrugged and sat down on Arya's bed.

"As if. I know all those women don't want _me_ , they're just salivating at the possibility of becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They have not yet considered that they are more likely to end up married to a simple blacksmith."

Arya sat down next to him, and she felt like the game she did not know they had both been playing had come to an end.

"You do not believe you will end up being King of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"No, my father is now doing his duty and planting another brother of mine in his wife's belly."

"They say it is a long shot," Arya offered, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Do you know how many half-siblings I have?"

"No."

"Nineteen known ones and the gods-only-know how many black-haired, blue-eyed bastards in every kingdom who share blood with me."

" _The seed is strong,_ " Arya mocked, making Gendry scrunch up his eyes, but letting a wide grin set on his face.

"And if you sow it often and in every field you happen to go by, even more so," he said, opening his eyes and facing her.

"So, you are really not like your father, then?"

"I don't know him enough to know, to be honest," Gendry replied with a defeated tone. "If you mean in terms of drinking and whoring? No. I never had enough coin to waste in the taverns, and I never wanted to chance to make bastards of my own."

"They are going to marry you off soon."

"As they will _you_."

They stared into each other's eyes, acknowledging something they both had been trying to ignore.

"Not if I have a say in it."

"And have you?" Gendry inquired, while Arya tried to get upset, taking his question as a slight, but she found out she couldn't.

He then added, "Your lady mother seems quite eager to find you and your sister a match."

"Are you insulting my mother?"

Arya's raised eyebrow made Gendry regret what he had said.

"I'm sorry that was not my intention. But isn't she?"

"She is," Arya had to concede. "My mother was happy when Sansa's engagement fell through. She was appalled when Joffrey showed his true colors, and there was nothing we could do about it. She knows it was a huge blow to our house to have been so close to having a queen in our family and failing. She wants to make good matches for us, but that doesn't mean she would want us to suffer a life of despair. My parents were lucky, their marriage was arranged, but they fell in love."

They stayed silent, suddenly developing an interest in the fire at the hearth. 

"Do you think it would be safe for me to leave now?" Gendry asked, feeling uncomfortable, all of a sudden.

"I'm sure by now they have given up on finding you today, and they have gone to their chambers to plot how to charm you at another social gathering."

"Great," he replied. "Should I make sure no one is around before leaving? I wouldn't want to tarnish your good reputation by being seen leaving your chambers."

"One may argue that it is _I_ who would tarnish yours," Arya quipped.

"I was born a bastard of Robert Baratheon with an alehouse wench, I do not think you can do more damage than that," he said before disappearing through her door.

* * *

The following day, Arya came into her father's solar without knocking. She was able to see him, Robb, Jon, and her uncle Benjen sitting around a table, deeply immersed in conversation.

"This cannot be true, Father," she heard Robb say with concern in his eyes.

"It is hard for me to believe it, but the raven was clear, and in Lord Commander Mormont's own hand."

Her uncle spoke next, "Ned, we've seen those things with our own eyes, they're unnatural."

"We must do something," Jon added.

Ned looked up, about to reply when he noticed Arya in the room, and he signaled for the rest to stay silent, holding his hand up.

"Arya, I didn't hear you knock."

"Mayhaps because I didn't, sorry, Father."

Ned then looked back to his sons and brother and said, "We shall continue this later."

It bothered Arya that her father stopped the conversation because she was present as if she had to be kept in the dark about the North's important information. The three men left the room, and Jon made sure to muss her hair before leaving. 

"What can I do for you, my love?"

Arya made a face but sat in one of the chairs vacated by her brothers.

Ned seemed unfazed by her gesture, and instead, his grin let her know that he found her dissatisfaction entertaining.

"You could trust me enough to be privy to important Northern affairs. I never would have left for Bear Island if I knew you were going to treat me like a stranger."

Her father leaned over the table, capturing her hands in his.

"You are _not_ a stranger. And I _do_ trust you. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn't."

"What is it then?"

Ned exhaled loudly and then spoke, "Lord Commander Mormont sent us a raven. There is a certain… _disturbance_ at the Wall."

"The free folk?" Arya asked.

"Something far worse. Your uncle and brother were sent to inform me of something that they have started encountering north of the Wall. Something that has pushed the free folk to flee south, and try to cross the Wall."

"What could make them want to cross south?"

"Something terrifying."

"I do not understand."

Ned stood silent for a while, and then, looking at Arya's determination, he said the words he had found so hard to accept, " _The dead_."

* * *

In the end, a group of Winterfell men was sent North to heed Commander Mormont's call of help. As it was discovered that a stretch of the Wall appeared to have been breached. It was hard to believe, but Ned had decided he could not wash his hands clean of it, and find too late that the creatures that his son had recounted seeing with his own eyes north of the Wall were at Winterfell's doors. 

Meanwhile, the last of the expected noble representatives arrived from the South, as the feast and ball were upon them. Arya, on the other hand, could not fathom, knowing the information that her father had shared with her. To her great frustration, she could not say anything to her mother and sister, who continued working hard with preparations, as her father had asked her.

The morning of the long-awaited event, at least, she had something to distract her from everything, as she was going to meet Gendry at Mikken's smithy, to judge the sword he had forged for her. 

Gendry lifted a piece of cloth from the blade with such reverence that she huffed in annoyance.

"Why are you taking so long? It's too late to realize this was a _stupid_ idea."

Gendry ignored her, and instead turned, with the shining steel in his hands. 

"Here, m'lady," he said as he placed the sword on Arya's hand that she had extended without even realizing. 

It was a rapier, like her Needle, but of larger proportions.

"If you don't mind me saying so, m'lady," Mikken intervened, "that's a _mighty_ fine sword."

"Do you really think so, Mikken? Or are you just saying so because he's a prince?" Arya asked, turning to look at the man.

"I do. Try it."

Arya walked outside, holding the new sword in her left hand, and once she reached the training yard, she gave it a couple of test swings. 

She liked its weight, despite how much she wanted to find fault in it. The black leather on the grip was soft, and it felt so right against her palm. She assumed the starting position of the water dance and followed the same steps that she had practiced since she was a small child when her father had brought Syrio Forel from Braavos to teach her. 

When the dance ended, and she broke out of her trance, she turned her face to find Gendry on the sidelines, looking down and massaging the back of his neck. His body language surprised her, as she had expected to see a smug smile on his face. 

"So, what do you think?" he asked, kicking the dirt.

"It's good."

"Good?" He asked, suddenly looking up and directly into Arya's eyes.

"Fine! It's a bloody _work of art_ , is that what you wanted me to say?"

The smile bloomed on his face, making her roll her eyes.

"Truthfully?"

"You know damn well, _your grace_."

"Why are you calling me ' _your grace'_ again?"

"Because I cannot call you _slave_ now, can I?"

Gendry let out a belly laugh at Arya's reply.

"And you're one to talk! You keep calling me _m'lady_."

Gendry shrugged and said, "A term of endearment, mayhaps."

* * *

That evening, after putting up with her sister brushing and styling her hair into a half updo, with a braid coiled around itself at the back of her head, and the rest falling neatly down, Arya was ready. 

She stood in her mother's chambers, staring at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that she looked good in the beautiful blue gown Sansa had made and altered for her. The soft fabric hugged her form, showing her curves. The skirts were loose, with delicate embroidering of their house sigil at the hems. 

With the weight of the fabric, Arya was sure that if she were to twirl, it would make for a beautiful sight, not that she planned to do so. On the other hand, she was thankful for the give on the skirts, convinced that if she found herself needing to fight or ride, the gown would not hinder her. Still, there was a feeling in her chest that she couldn't quite name, but felt as if she was wearing someone else's face.

"You look beautiful!" her mother said, coming to stand behind her, and placing her hands on her shoulders. 

"Sansa's work is flawless, as usual."

"It is," her mother agreed, leaning over her shoulder. "Though I wasn't referring to your sister's skills, but to the way _you_ look."

Arya only gave a small smile, unused to receiving such compliments. 

Her mother, Sansa, and Arya joined her father in his solar, where all her brothers were already waiting, wearing their best garb. Ned's eyes lit up the moment he saw his wife and daughters coming.

"Whatever did I do to deserve such a gorgeous wife and daughters?"

"Flattery will earn you nothing, _my lord_ ," Cat replied, but the way her lips were curling, and the apples of her high cheeks were rapidly blushing, told Arya that her mother was still, all those years later, deeply in love with her father. Arya knew it had not been the case on their wedding day, but she also understood just how lucky they had been in the end.

All the Starks walked towards the Great Hall together. Arya's parents and older brother were to sit at the dais with the princes and other important heads of houses, while she and her siblings would be seated closest to the honor table with other esteemed guests as the Mormonts. 

Arya fidgeted as she stood by her place, waiting for the grand entrance of the Baratheon princes. At least, she was grateful that she was wearing her regular boots under the gown along with a trusted dagger strapped to her thigh, where no one could see it. To her mother and sister's displeasure, though, everyone could see that Arya was wearing her sword belt and scabbard at her hip. She kept switching her weight from one leg to the other and tightened her hold on her new sword's pommel.

"Is that a new blade?" Dacey Mormont asked, noticing her fidgeting.

"Hmm," Arya hesitated for a moment. "Yes, it is."

"You didn't tell us you had commissioned a new one," Alysane Mormont added, extending her hand to it, only to have Arya swat at her.

Jon took interest then, "What's wrong with your Needle?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you have another one made?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows.

Arya stayed silent.

"I heard," Sansa interrupted with a mischievous look, "that a certain Baratheon prince has been working hard in our forge."

"Would that information come from the _other_ Baratheon prince, by any chance?" Arya countered, wiping the grin clean from Sansa's face. 

"So, are you telling me your new sword was made by a crown prince?!" Dacey exclaimed, her voice loud enough for several people from the nearby tables to turn towards them.

"Can you _please_ keep it down, Dace?!" Arya commanded her, making her sister shush them both.

"For your information," Arya added, speaking more quietly, "a King's Landing blacksmith who just happened to have been legitimized and named prince very recently, made me a new sword."

"Wait," Jon intervened. "We'll go back to the prince part later, why would Prince Gendry make you a new sword if you didn't commission it?"

Arya shrugged and then replied, "He saw me water dancing and proclaimed that Needle was too small for me, and one thing led to another, and we ended up making a wager that he could not make me a new sword of the same or higher quality than mine."

"One thing led to another, huh?" Theon interjected with a wink, right before taking a swig of his drink.

Alysane and Dacey snickered, as Jon seemed to scowl. 

"Who won?" Bran asked, suddenly revealing that he had been following the conversation, despite not showing interest before. 

Arya's eyes just threw daggers at her younger brother.

"Well, she's wearing the sword, I think the answer is quite obvious," Sansa added with mirth in her voice.

"What would you have won? If you don't mind me asking," Alysane intervened.

Arya's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then she replied, "A slave for a fortnight."

The young people at the table erupted in laughter, but they quickly calmed down after Catelyn snapped her fingers to get their attention and gave them a stern look. 

"I'm impressed, _little wolf_ ," Dacey spoke, using her nickname for Arya. "You claimed not to care about politics and marriage alliances, and you went out to ensnare yourself a crowned stag."

"After all this, you and I will have to settle this in the training yard, Dace. Then I'll be able to test this blade wiping that smug smile off your face."

"What did Prince Gendry win then?" Lyra asked, but Arya didn't get to reply because, in that precise moment, the Baratheon princes entered the Great Hall. 

As they walked by the tables towards the dais, all the guests bowed and curtsied, while the princes, old and young, gave short nods. By the time they were by the young Starks' table, Gendry was standing alongside Arya as she curtsied. 

When Arya stood again, Gendry leaned a bit towards her, but without looking away from the dais, he whispered, loud enough for the rest of the people at the table to hear, "Don't forget you owe me a few dances."

Sansa's auburn eyebrow arched as she stared at her sister, and quiet snickers could be heard. 

* * *

After the first two courses of the feast and before the third was brought out, Alys, a young servant girl, came to refill her goblet, but Arya set her hand on top of it, signaling that she wouldn't be drinking any more Dornish red.

"If you could fetch me some more water, it would be greatly appreciated, Alys."

Arya was known for always calling Winterfell's servants by name, no matter if their families had been there for generations, or if they had just arrived a sennight before, seeking asylum from hardships that only the gods knew about. 

"Of course, m'lady," the girl replied with a curtsy, but she managed to drop a parchment over Arya's lap.

Arya unfolded it, only to find a message written with atrocious penmanship, but clear enough for her to read.

_'Meet me in the smithy before the ball begins.'_

There was no name signed at the bottom, but there was no question about who the author was. She looked toward the dais, at the spot where she knew Gendry had been seated, only to find it empty. Instead, she locked eyes with Gendry's younger half-brother, who was wont to smile often, in particular, whenever he looked towards Arya's sister. 

If someone looked at both Gendry and Edric, there would be no question about both young men having been sired by the same man. Though, whenever Arya looked at Gendry's brother, she could not stop herself from tallying all the features that seemed to be wrong. Those same features were the ones that distinguished him from Gendry: smoother skin, always cleanly shaven, and large ears, not just longer, but sticking out to the sides of his face. And last but not least, a cordial disposition, in particular, towards anything related to noble customs, when Arya was used to Gendry's scowl, or the sly smile that he seemed to save only for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Edric's shrug, which seemed to be the perfect answer to the question Arya hadn't realized she had plastered on her face. 

Her table companions happened to be immersed in their own conversations, so slipping away undetected was easy. She was sure her mother would be observing her like a hawk, but she also knew that Lady of Winterfell would never do anything that would cause a commotion. 

There would be ample time for her mother to chastise her later.

By the time Arya made it to the Winterfell forge, she was surprised to find it dark and deserted. She had only known the place with roaring fires and the song of the smiths banging on steel.

As she made her way inside. The only thing she could see was Gendry's silhouette, highlighted only by the faint light coming from the embers.

"You look good," he said with a nervous smile.

"You too."

Arya looked around, which seemed to make the prince fluster even more, "I didn't know if I'd have enough time to finish this," he said turning back to grab something from one of the workbenches. "I really wanted you to have it for tonight."

Arya narrowed her eyes and stretched her neck, trying to figure out what he was referring to.

"You already finished my sword, what are you talking about?"

Gendry then turned around with a shiny piece of metal on his hands. When the faint light hit it just right, Arya was able to identify an exquisite steel breastplate in dimensions she had never seen made before for any knight. 

Gendry deposited it in her hands and gave her time to study it with her fingertips: the perfect shape of her torso and elegant carvings of direwolves and weirwood trees.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, her voice coming out faint with emotion.

"I thought about what you said, about not feeling quite like yourself in that gown," Gendry explained, and Arya noticed that he nodded towards her dress, his eyes taking a little longer than needed to stare at her outfit. "Even if you look _beautiful_ , like a proper lady. I know what it feels like. No longer feeling like yourself, and instead, having to play a part."

Arya found herself nodding at the words spilling from his mouth, mayhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

"Anyway, I wanted to give you something that you could wear with your pretty gown, that would remind you, and everyone else that you are a warrior as well as a lady. And that you are strong, like _steel_."

Arya turned back to the breastplate, not because she needed to look at it again, but because she needed a moment for her eyes to convince her tears to stay inside.

"Would you… hmm… I was wondering…"

His hesitation made her raise her chin abruptly, "Yes?"

Gendry was scratching the back of his head then, and he said, "I mean, would you like me to help you strap it on?"

Arya nodded, with the same emotion as she had the first time her father had placed a bow in her hands. 

* * *

"Are you ready?" Gendry asked her just outside the Great Hall doors.

"There is no point postponing the inevitable," she replied.

When they came into the large room, they noticed that the Winterfell servants had cleared the tables and pushed them to the sides, to create more space for the dance. The musicians were already playing a traditional Northern tune, but no one had started to dance yet. 

Both Arya and Gendry felt everyone's eyes on them all at once. Arya couldn't know for sure if the gasps and snickers were just because the steel breastplate adorning her torso, and the sword dangling from her waist or it was for something else. Still, she suspected that a small number of the people that seemed surprised at their sight were also reacting to the fact that Gendry had offered her his arm, right before they came into the ballroom. 

Looking towards the dais, Arya could see the stoic face on her mother, which anyone else would characterize as calm, but only her siblings and she would accurately know to be a sign that Arya was in deep trouble. 

Her father chose that moment to clear his throat noisily, calling attention to himself, to address all their guests. "Dearest friends, the North, Winterfell, and I are grateful to have you all gather here, not only to welcome Princes Stannis and Renly, and the newly appointed Princes Gendry and Edric. Having us all together has allowed us to make new alliances, and find solutions to new challenges that are coming towards all Seven Kingdoms. We must celebrate tonight the work that has been achieved, and the new friendships that have been forged."

Arya felt her father talking directly to her as he looked her way at the end of his short speech. It seemed as if not only was a long talk with her lady mother in her immediate future but also with her lord father. 

Gendry had to bid her goodbye for the moment, as his uncle Stannis was signaling for him to approach, in his own natural frustrated fashion, as his uncle Renly shook his head at his older brother.

Gendry and Eric were introduced to more young girls dressed in lavish gowns, who blushed and smiled coyly. Gendry hated being with nobles as he was expected to engage in small talk. On the other hand, his brother excelled at it, clearly because he had been born into that world, and he spoke the same language as his new peers. Gendry kept throwing side glances, trying to track where Arya was. She had also been forced to do the rounds, and she didn't seem any more excited than him about the prospect of polite conversation with her father's esteemed guests. But despite her dislike for feasts and balls, she didn't seem to suffer from Gendry's inability to reply to questions with more than one or two words. 

Gendry didn't quite understand why he never seemed to have that same problem with Arya. She was as noble-born as every young girl he had been introduced since the moment he was legitimized, but his tongue seemed to get loose whenever he was in her presence. Gendry tried to justify it, thinking that mayhaps it was Arya's passion for sword fighting, but the voice in his head mocked him for it.

Even right then, as he was trying to pay attention to what Lady something-or-other was saying about the sandsilk imported for Dorne that was used to make her elaborate gown, he found himself thinking that it lacked a sword belt and scabbard at the hip. He turned to look for Arya once more, and he felt mesmerized by the way she looked. He couldn't stop himself from feeling smug about how the breastplate he made for her glinted in the chandelier light. 

His reverie ended the moment Edric elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention, and his uncle Renly bent over in laughter, to the chagrin of Stannis, who ground his teeth.

Gendry was relieved when the time for small talk was over, but to his dismay, it was only because the dance was about to start. 

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell opened the dance, and Gendry was intrigued by how they looked at each other. Arya's mother even blushed a bit and seemed bashful whenever her husband would get close to her and whispered something in her ear. 

Gendry could see how Arya looked as she stared at her parents. It caused an imperative feeling in his chest, 

that made him want Arya to have that same soft look in her face when she looked at him. 

After the first song was over, both Edric and he were pushed by Renly to join the dance and all the other young men and women present. Gendry felt awkward as he tried to follow his brother's movements, as they participated in an elaborate line dance. The poor girl who had the misfortune to be paired with him was no longer hiding her reactions when he stepped on her toes for the third time. There was a step that prompted all couples to cross back and switch places with the couple behind them. It was then that Gendry noticed that Arya was close to him, as she was dancing with some wiry-looking young lord. 

Gendry didn't think twice, and his hand went to Arya's waist. He led her away, leaving behind their dance partners alone and confused until they finally resigned themselves to pair up as they were both abandoned.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked, looking around and noticing that people were following them with their eyes.

"I could say rescuing you, but in all truth, just collecting on a debt."

"Are you?"

"Well, you owe me a few dances," he replied with a shrug, "and the girl I was with risks losing her remaining toes if she continues dancing with me."

"So, I should be the one to lose her toes to your stomping feet?"

Setting both of his hands on her waist as he started to sway, he answered, "Well, something tells me you'll skewer me before I can step on you a second time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think?


	3. The rest of my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rider comes to Winterfell and interrupts the ball with news of the Umbers of Last Hearth. A decision is made to ride north to stop the wights from killing everyone they encounter on their way south and save the North and the rest of Westeros of the impending doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the very last chapter. I cannot believe this is finished. I have to say I just saw Liv's art and I am floored with how talented she is. 
> 
> You'll notice that I took some liberties with the geography and travel times. This is a canon divergent AU and I had to take some artistic licenses to make the idea work. 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to read this fic.

Arya loved the water dance. When she was little, her father had Syrio Forel brought to the North to teach it to her. It would tickle her to no end, how her mother would mention in front of lords and ladies how Arya excelled at her dance lessons, knowing that it was actually sword fighting. Once she was past that age, she could see why they called the Braavosi style a dance, since the fluidity of movement was more akin to art than physical activity. 

Real dancing, on the other hand, was not something she had particularly enjoyed. She felt stiff while she danced with Elmar Frey, but once Gendry had cut in to collect on their bet, she had stopped feeling anxious about following the proper steps of the dance. She suddenly wondered what it was about him that made her feel at ease. 

When she looked up, though, Gendry had a deep crease on his forehead, and he seemed to have transformed back to the grumpy man she had been introduced to when her family lined up to greet the Baratheons as they arrived. 

"What's wrong with your face?" she asked as they swayed together.

"Nothing, this is my regular face."

"Well, it is. But you have a deep scowl."

"As I just said, _this_ _is_ my regular face."

"Not with me," Arya pointed out. "When you talk to me, you have that other face, the smug one."

Something caught in Gendry's throat, and it took him a moment to figure out how to respond.

"I guess you're right."

"What's wrong, then?"

"These stupid clothes," he said, looking down at the black silk doublet with golden thread embroidering he wore. "And the way _those_ girls are looking at me. They don't know I'm nothing but a greasy smith underneath."

"Show them."

"What?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows.

"You told me that I should show everyone who I really am. Do the same."

"I don't have armor or a helm to wear," he pointed out.

"You are a blacksmith underneath, aren't you?" Arya asked, the fire in her eyes burning deep in him. " _Show them that_."

She was right. 

Gendry stopped dancing to unlace the sleeves of his doublet. He rolled the sleeves up, revealing the leather cuffs hiding underneath and soot stains on his arms. Everyone gasped, and Stannis, in particular, looked like he wanted to murder him. 

There was a deadly silence in the hall, pierced only by Theon Greyjoy's snickers. Gendry looked out of the corner of his eyes, and he felt a need to walk himself back to the Winterfell forge to bang his rage onto the steel and never come out of the place where he thought he belonged. Arya's soft hand came to his stubbled cheek and forced him to turn towards her.

"Just keep your eyes on me," she instructed him.

That was all he needed, and both started dancing anew, unencumbered by the way people looked at them. Soon, everyone went back to the dance. Eventually, they stopped staring at the odd young couple, mayhaps prompted by the dirty looks Arya's brothers and sister threw at their gossipy guests.

[ ](https://imgur.com/JhnfAfz)

**Amazing art by Liv, please visit her at her Tumblr[@livhatesolives](https://livhatesolives.tumblr.com/)**

* * *

It had all gone back to normal when the doors to the Great Hall opened abruptly, and a young man with a crazed look on his face came running in, making everyone stop, and the music end. He panted for a few minutes, unable to calm his breathing enough to be able to speak. 

"Well, spit it out!" Stannis yelled impatiently.

"What is it?" Ned Stark asked in a gentler tone.

"They are well past the Wall," the young man explained, and Arya wondered if the people present knew the magnitude of what he was saying. 

"I don't know how, my lord, but those… _things_ reached Last Hearth."

"What of the Umbers?" Ned asked with concern, knowing that they had apologized for not being able to join their liege lord for the festivities.

The young man shook his head and looked down.

"They're not more. Not how you knew them anyway. Those _things_ are marching this way."

"What is he talking about, Ned?" Catelyn asked, unable to understand what the young man said, but noticing the knowing look exchanged between her husband and his two sons. 

"They're called _wights_ ," Benjen Stark spoke then, looking towards his older brother as if asking for permission. Ned nodded, indicating him to continue.

"The free folk beyond the Wall encountered them before and started fleeing south. They reported that their dead would not stay dead for long, raising and marching, killing everyone on their path, and turning them into another one of those things."

"Those are wilding lies," a lord from the Riverlands spoke.

"The _free folk_ ," Jon corrected them. "That is what they prefer to be called. And they are not lies, my lord. I have seen them with my own eyes, and fought them, as has my uncle Benjen."

"It is true," Benjen added. "Jon and I were sent south by Lord Commander Mormont to speak with my brother, the Warden of the North, and the princes, to warn them."

Stannis nodded in agreement.

All present gasped, finally realizing the gravity of the situation.

"I sent a group of men North a fortnight ago, to investigate," Ned explained. "I'm afraid nothing has been heard from them so far. This young man here seems to be the only remaining one."

"It is true," the young mad added in between sobs. "My lord, they were all taken, but I was tasked to ride south and inform you, so Winterfell and the rest of Westeros do not fall the way Last Hearth did."

The room erupted in murmurs and gasps, and even one or two wails of despair. Arya saw then her mother embracing her father as he kissed her head, trying to comfort her.

"What are we going to do?" Arya's voice cut through the confusion.

"Arya?" her mother asked.

"I don't know about you, but I will not let the dead come to our home and take all of those I love," she said, looking around the room.

"Winter is coming," her father said, "and the North is ready. Who's with me?"

"I am, my lord," Gendry was the first to answer.

Right after that, one by one, more guests joined the Lord of Winterfell, pledging themselves to go and fight wights. The Mormont sisters shared a look with Arya and stood alongside their foster sister. 

* * *

Everything was very chaotic after it. Gendry had tried to keep track where Arya had gone, but she had rushed to join her brothers and the bear sisters. Once she left the Great Hall, Gendry snapped out of his trance and busied himself, helping the men and women get armed by following Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms at Winterfell, to the armory.

Two hours later, the convoy was lining up by the North Gate, as they got their horses ready to leave. Gendry was standing by the horse he had ridden from the Riverlands, the destrier seeming as nervous as Gendry, who had never been a particularly skilled rider. Still, he had far more pressing worries than riding north with several highly seasoned riders.

All his anxiety seemed to melt away when he saw Arya approaching, flanked by the five Mormont sisters. He had to admit that they were quite a sight, wearing their gowns under heavy northern cloaks and swords strapped to their hips. Arya was still wearing the breastplate he had made for her, and it made him feel his chest broaden with pride. 

Gendry had his own sword at his belt and a hammer he had borrowed from Mikken's smithy on his back. He hadn't had the opportunity to ask Winterfell's master blacksmith to take it, but he hoped he could return it and apologize when they were back.

"Shouldn't you be staying behind?" Arya asked him as she mounted her horse. "I would have imagined they'd keep the heir to the Iron Throne safe."

"There are eighteen other spares to go through. I may not be as talented with a sword as you, but I'm strong, and I reckon I can take a few wights before I fall."

"Make sure not to get yourself killed," Arya warned him, looking ahead, as the North Gate opened.

"Any reason why?"

"Well, first, it would be a hassle for our side to have to fight a wight of your proportions, second, it would be a real shame to lose a smith as skilled as you."

"And third?"

"I've grown fond of you," Arya explained as she spurred her horse, and galloped to join her brothers, leaving Gendry dumbfounded.

____ 

They rode north all through the night. Arya's uncle and Jon rode ahead, guiding the party. She had told Gendry that both were rangers of the Night's Watch, and as Gendry rode in the dark and over snow, unable to see any road ahead, he was grateful that they were there.

When dawn broke, they stopped for a moment to rest and to have a bite of food at the Tumbledown Tower ruins. It was a risk, riding without proper sleep, but Lord Stark wanted to meet with the army of the dead as far north as possible to avoid other unfortunate souls suffering what the Umbers and their people at Last Heart had gone through. His uncles Stannis and Renly, were among the group, as his brother Edric was as well. There was talk for a moment about a Baratheon staying behind, in case everyone going north was doomed to lose their life. In the end, no one stayed. Gendry knew there was no way he would have stayed behind, and his uncles seemed just as convinced. His brother Edric seemed nervous, but he never said if he would have preferred to stay back. Gendry knew it would have been a craven thing to do, but regardless of the reason, he felt proud of him for coming along despite it all. 

A raven had been sent to King's Landing and to all the major houses south. He didn't know what the king would have said if he had had a chance to respond before the convoy left, but it really didn't matter. 

While he sat down around a fire, trying to get warm drinking a cup of broth, Arya came to sit next to him, and she shoved half a piece of bread in his hands. 

"What's this?"

"Bread. Don't people eat bread in King's Landing?" she asked, with that tone of hers that she liked to use to mock him, but that sounded sweet in Gendry's ears. 

"I know what it is, I'm not _that_ stupid. And we _do_ have bread in King's Landing. Maybe not abundantly in Flea Bottom where I'm from, but I do know what it is. What I meant was, why are you giving me half _your_ bread? We brought limited resources from Winterfell. It would serve you well to have it all yourself, you don't know when you'll have a chance to eat again."

"It will serve _me_ well to make sure _you_ are well fed."

"Why?"

"I told you before, I've grown fond of you, and I'll be vexed if you keeled over."

Gendry could have kept bantering, but instead, he looked into Arya's eyes deeply, and added, "Thank you."

After dipping the bread in the broth and offering it to Arya to do the same, Gendry spoke again.

"How many from your family came?"

"My two youngest brothers stayed home with my mother and sister. Rickon is only one and ten. Bran fought to come. He is five and ten, but he had to be acting lord of Winterfell. My father, my brothers Robb and Jon, my uncle Benjen, and Theon, my father's ward came. He _is_ an idiot, but I love him like a brother."

"Your lady mother must be beside herself with worry," Gendry commented.

"I reckon she'll spend day and night in her sept, but she is a Tully, married to a Stark. She doesn't scare easily."

"So, it's from her where you get it from, then. Your strength?"

Gendry's comment rattled Arya. In other circumstances, and years before she left for Bear Island, particularly, she would have said no. Her immediate reaction was always to say that she took after her lord father while her sister Sansa took after their lady mother. For so long, she was convinced that there was nothing from her mother in her and that it was the reason why Catelyn always seemed so cross with her. Arya wasn't sure if it had been the long separation while she fostered with the Mormonts, or if it was that they were on their way to certain death. Still, Gendry's comment made her yearn a bit for her mother, and to feel proud thinking that her strength was not just the wolf blood pumping through her veins, but the resilience of a Tully girl, who went north to meet the husband she barely knew with her newborn babe at her breast. 

"I sure hope so."

"Your mother is a scary lady."

Arya laughed when she noticed that Gendry seemed sincere as if her mother was scarier than the foe they were going to meet. 

"But I can see that she loves you lot, fiercely."

"She does. In her own way."

"I don't remember much from my mother. Must be nice."

Arya stared at Gendry and noticed how his eyes seemed to look towards something faraway. She didn't have to ask to know that it was long since he had lost her. There was no time to ask now, though, and she hoped the gods allowed for a time when she could.

"I wish you could have that. Maybe one day you will have a family of your own," she offered.

Gendry turned to stare at her then, and Arya could almost see a warm blue flame dancing in his eyes. Something squeezed her heart and made her throat burn, wondering what had prompted her to say that. 

Gendry opened his mouth and attempted to say something a couple of times, faltering. On his third try, he finally managed to get words out, but only when he had turned away from Arya.

"I guess you're right. If I'm lucky, and I don't croak when we battle the wights. Maybe in the future, I could be lucky enough to get a wife, and a family of my own."

"I think it's more than possible."

Gendry turned towards her once more, trying to figure out what was the meaning behind her words. 

"I just mean," Arya stuttered, "your uncles and the king are looking for a good match for you."

Gendry huffed, and Arya worried her words had upset him.

"Oh, _that_. I guess it can't be that bad. Looking at your parents dancing can give one hope that even with an arranged political marriage, there is a chance for love and happiness."

"Is it that obvious? I wonder how it looks for the rest. I am so used to seeing it that I question if other people can see the love in their eyes."

Gendry stared at her grey eyes and spoke, "Oh, it is. He looks at her with such love and devotion. And I never understood it before, but the way your mother looks at your father, I guess that is what all those silly love songs are about. When they were dancing, back at the Great Hall, I wanted that for myself. To have the woman you love staring at you that way while you lose yourself in her beautiful gr… eyes. In her _beautiful_ eyes."

Arya saw the color suddenly tinting Gendry's cheeks, as he looked back down to his cup of broth. It was as if she could feel the heat of his cheeks on her own. For a moment, Arya wondered if she'd be able to feel the fire on her skin if her palm touched her face. She looked away. Gendry had wavered in the middle of his sentence. He had stopped himself as he started to say a word that she thought could have been _'grey.'_

It scared her how much she hoped that he had meant to say ' _grey eyes.'_

She didn't have time to wonder anymore about it, as they were called by the horns to put out the fires and mount their steeds once more, and continue galloping north towards death.

* * *

They stayed on the kingsroad. The road seemed to split the northernmost part of the wolfswood right in the middle. Gendry had thought he had felt the worst of the Northern cold, first in Winterfell, and then when they started their journey, but nothing could have prepared him for that. He could see his breath in front of him, and the tips of his ears were numb as were his toes, despite having pulled the hood of his thick fur cloak over his head. That far north, and with the low temperature, the water of the river had started to freeze close to the riverbanks, but the current kept the stream of what was left of the White Knife flowing before it joined with the Long Lake.

All the riders finally came to a stop at the shore of the lake. Across, Gendry could only see the white snow

There was nothing to tell them their enemies were nearby, but the deafening silence, and a sudden drop in the temperature. 

The watchers stared across the lake, trying to spot any sign of the undead to no avail. It was then decided that they were to cross the river before it reached the lake, where it was narrower. The horses were led to the other side one by one, and their riders had them amble. Arya's uncle Benjen was one of the first ones to cross, leading them all. Gendry could see him moving along the banks of snow, slowly around heaps of snow.

Gendry had already made it to the other side, and he was able to see Arya's mare crossing just behind him. He was looking back towards her when he heard the neigh of Benjen's destrier. Turning forward, he could see the horse in distress, shaking its head as his rider spurred him to keep going. Gendry was no stranger to how animals could sense things humans couldn't, and he saw that Arya's uncle thought the same, because of how he suddenly changed the reign from his right hand to his left and searched for the pommel of his sword with his dominant hand.

Then, something rose from the snow and attacked Benjen's horse, which reared abruptly. Arya's uncle held on tightly to the reins and kept himself seated, unsheathing his sword and swinging it at the corpse in front of him. 

At that moment, every heap of snow shook loose and monstrous bodies that lacked chunks of flesh, sometimes so large that you could see only bone, started charging towards them. 

"Fall back!" a yell sounded, prompting everyone to turn back and flee.

Gendry pulled the rein of his horse hard to one side more abruptly than what he had intended. The black destrier reacted to the corpses rising from the snow. Gendry tried to get the horse to move, kicking hard with his heel and pulling on the rein once more, but the beast would not budge, and it started lowering its head and trying to shake Gendry off. He was just about to jump off and run when soft hands took hold of his hand and rein. Turning to the side, he found Arya on her horse, shushing the animal right next to hers, and gently pulling to get it to turn around. Gendry followed her cues and recovered the control of his horse. 

Facing the opposite way, they both got their horses to cross the river on the way they had come from. Once on the opposite shore, they turned around. A few of their people were caught by the dead, falling from their horses when they were pulled down. Some had time to unsheathe their swords and cut the monsters down to flee to safety. Unfortunately, five or six of the men that had come with them had been overwhelmed by the horde. 

When the dead reached their edge of the river, they stopped clearly fearful of the water. When Jon made it back to shore, he had jumped from his horse, and he started helping those who had been unseated and struggling to cross the river by foot. 

Gendry dismounted when he noticed, as several other people did as well, and he ran to aid Arya's brother. When everyone was safe, they all turned to look at their enemy, continuing to stand at the edge, the back lines pushing against the dead in front, making their group denser. From time to time, one would fall into the river, and the strength of the current would be too much for limbs that were no more than bones to keep together by nothing but some kind of magic. 

"They can't cross. Why can't they cross?" Lyanna Mormont, the youngest of Arya's bear sisters at four and ten, asked.

"They don't seem to have enough strength to cross the river," her sister Lyra replied. 

"The White Knife should protect us. Winterfell is safe then, and everything else on this side," a Riverlands lord announced. 

"Too bad for the Boltons," Theon Greyjoy added, "but then again, I've always hated those fuckers, so who cares."

"This is not the first body of water south of the wall," Robb explained.

Arya's father added, " _The Last River._ They had to cross it somehow, after Last Hearth."

There was a defeated silence.

"We must find a way," Benjen Stark spoke. "We came here not just to stop their march, we came to rid the land of these monsters for once and for all."

As they discussed what they were to do, Arya stared at the bodies that continued pushing at each other. More and more of them falling into the current of the river, 

"We need to fall back to the woods," she explained.

"You want us to flee?!" Stannis Baratheon yelled.

"No, we need a plan. It won't be long until they figure out that the more those bodies fall to the stream, they will start piling up and will be able to bridge the current."

"You've heard my sister, we need to go back," Jon yelled to the crowd.

Once they made it back to the shelter of the weirwood trees of the wolfswood, there was at least a sense of safety. The Baratheon princes, old and young, all of the Starks and the representatives of the major houses huddled together as Jon took a stick and started sketching the battlefield in the snow. 

"Once they figure out how to cross the stream, they will be upon us. We must find a way to ambush them, hiding on either side to the kingsroad."

"I'm sorry, my lord," Gendry commented, and Jon found it weird that a crown prince would refer to him as a lord, but there had not been enough opportunity for the two men who had been born to a life of bastardy to spend any time together. 

"How do we know they will stick to the kingsroad?" the smith prince asked.

"We don't, you're right."

"There doesn't seem to be any rhyme nor reason to their behavior, but they seem to be of a hive mind," Robb added.

"They must be enticed to come this way," Arya said, and both her brothers looked at her with the same faces they always had whenever she had a brilliant idea.

"Arya, no," Jon cautioned her, knowing her better than anyone else.

"You don't even know what I'm about to say."

"Tell me you're not about to say you'll play bait."

Gendry stared, realizing what Arya's brother had mentioned. He turned towards her and willed her to prove her brother wrong, but instead, she looked at the snow, as she spoke.

"Someone needs to make the horde come this way, where we will be waiting for them."

"No!" Gendry yelled without being able to stop himself.

" _Your grace_ has something to say about it?" Arya asked, looking at him.

"No, it's just… I wouldn't want you to get in harm's way, that's all."

"It's not your decision, _stupid_."

"Arya," her father called her.

"Father, please, you have to trust me. You got the best to train me, and you sent me to Bear Island. This is the point where you trust _your_ instincts. This is what you trained me for."

Ned Stark suddenly heard the voice of his lady wife loud and clear in his head, berating him, _'see Ned? You have a soft spot for Arya because you see your sister in her.'_

The moment the midwife had placed the tiniest of all the bundles of their babes in his arms, a pair of big bright grey eyes had stared back at him. Mayhaps it was that this was the first of his natural children to look like him, or mayhaps it was that she looked so much like his late little sister. Arya had grown up in Lyanna's shadow, even if she had never known her, so much wild wolf in her. He had always felt proud of Robb and of Jon, even if he hadn't fathered him. Also of Theon, who was the son of his enemy, but raised along all of his pups. Sansa had been his sweet babe, made in the image of his wife. But Arya had been something else. The one that felt like a connection with all the loved ones he had lost. He wouldn't even pretend that he hadn't always had a soft spot for her and that she had him tied around her little finger. 

He knew that he had done everything to give her all the training and opportunities to develop her talents. Mayhaps because his biggest regret was thinking that if his sister had been given the opportunities she so desperately wanted, she wouldn't have died in childbed. Or mayhaps it was because the old gods had known that this day would come, and Arya was always meant to do this. 

Still, it was hard to accept it, fearing that she could lose her life to the wights. 

"I'll join you," the voice of the young Baratheon prince pulled Ned from his mortifying thoughts.

"You, your grace?" someone asked.

"You can't! You are the heir!" another voice yelled.

"What kind of heir to the Iron Throne would wait in the back while a brave Northern woman was willing to put herself in harm's way to save Westeros?"

Arya turned to face him, and there was a small smile shared between the two of them that her father didn't miss. 

"You think you can do this, _your grace_?"

"You don't know how strong I am."

"Very well then, grab that hammer of yours."

"What's the plan, then?" Dacey Mormont asked.

"We'll lead the dead this way, to the kingsroad. You should take cover, and once we have them surrounded, we will attack. They mustn't be allowed to cross through and reach The Tumbledown Tower."

During their preparations, a few of the squires that went with them kept an eye on the wights. They were on the last preparations when one of the squires came running to them, and a bit out of breath, he said, "They have almost reached the other side, they keep falling on top of each other, and have figured out they can walk over the fallen ones. It won't be long before they can cross and continue."

"Are we ready?" Renly asked.

"It doesn't matter," Stannis answered, "we'll have to make do with what we have."

"Everybody!" Benjen yelled, "take your places!"

The young Mormont girls, Jorelle and Lyanna, had been sent with the younger squires to the ruined tower, along with all the horses to keep them safe, and they were instructed that if they saw the dead approach the clearing, they were to fire lit arrows and set the wolfswood on fire.

"Aren't your woods sacred?" Edric had asked when it was decided.

"All weirwood trees are," Ned explained, "but the old gods would not want the North to be lost to monsters. Better to lit all of us in flames, than have all fall and march south to kill our families."

Once everyone had gone to their hiding spots, Arya and Gendry marched towards the river again. They didn't reach the shore when they noticed the dead were just about to cross. 

"I bet you are already regretting volunteering to do this with me," Arya spoke.

"Never," Gendry replied with conviction. "I don't know if you have noticed, but I'm not fond of people in general. You are about the only person I enjoy being around."

"Even when facing a horde of corpses?"

"Well, I'll have to admit that I rather we weren't facing them," he replied, and shrugging he added, "but if I have to die facing the dead, I rather it happened while I swung my hammer alongside you, and you wielded the best sword I've ever made."

"I guess there are worse ways to die," Arya responded, and Gendry noticed her hair blowing in the Northern air. 

He thought, right then, that she had never looked more beautiful.

"Aye," he said. "and there should be better ones."

"Like what?" Arya asked, turning towards him.

Gendry thought for a moment and then ventured, "Old age?" 

"On the Iron Throne?" Arya asked.

"Fuck, no! Do you think that's how I'd want to go?"

"Well, what would you rather be doing right before you die?"

Arya's words hit him hard, and the same conviction with which he had always held on to his hammer and swung to hit the steel, prompted him to pull her by the waist and bring her lips to him.

Her lips were cold but soft, as Gendry explored them slowly. He had started to worry when she had stayed still, but suddenly, she seemed to break through the haze, and her lips parted slightly, letting him taste her mouth. 

"What was that for?" Arya asked, feeling a bit dizzy when the kiss was over.

"I don't know. I thought that if I'm about to die, I wanted to go with your taste on my lips. And then I thought that mayhaps you'd be agreeable to it, was I mistaken?" Gendry responded as he turned to see the first of the corpses dragging itself to their side of the river. He raised his hammer about his head, and he positioned his body to shield Arya with his.

Arya shook her head to rid herself of the fog of the kiss. She noticed that Gendry was planning on shielding her, and she felt her blood boil. Arya wrapped her arms around Gendry's neck, forcing him to turn back to her, and she kissed him passionately.

"I am agreeable," she said as she pulled away from him, and she unsheathed her blade. "But if you are counting on kissing me after the battle, you better not be fucking planning on doing the chivalrous thing and treat me like I am not capable of holding my own."

"Oh, not at all, m'lady," Gendry replied with a big grin as he moved aside. "You are by far the better warrior of both of us. And since I am looking forward to kissing you some more, I've decided that I am _fucking_ surviving this."

"You better."

* * *

While it had taken a while for the dead to bridge the river, the moment they were able to cross over the fallen ones' bodies, they advanced rapidly. The first one ran towards Gendry and Arya, with its arms extended and bright blue flames for eyes. Its mouth was inhumanly open, with only one side of its jaw still attached to the face.

Gendry saw it approach, and he sensed Arya taking the stance of her water dance by his side. As the corpse gained speed, getting closer to them, Gendry bounced slowly on the balls of his feet, slightly twirling the hammer in his grip.

When the wight was just at arm's reach, Arya thrust her sword forward, piercing its neck cleanly. Two more were following close, and so, Gendry took two steps forward and, swinging his hammer, he caved in the head of the one in the front, and then he immediately swung back to hit the one behind. While the first one was knocked square in the head, almost detaching it entirely from the neck, the one after had been only grazed on the side of the face, and while it was enough to make it stumble, it didn't stop its advance towards Gendry. 

He took a step back to prepare his next blow, but a swift shadow went by him and skewered the half-faced man in the only eye it had left.

"Thank you," Gendry uttered, momentarily turning to Arya.

She yanked her sword back to dislodge it and replied, "Don't thank me yet and knock the head off of that one," she said, signaling the incoming corpses.

Gendry went back to swinging and knocking heads left and right, and at some point, he started alternating between the hammer on his right hand and the sword on his left. Meanwhile, Arya used her still-unnamed sword and the dagger she had taken from under her skirts. 

By the time several bodies surrounded them, they could see a massive wave of wights charging their way. They had clearly been successful in getting their attention, and they knew that they would chase them. Sharing a quick look, they turned and ran towards the kingsroad.

When they made it there, and trees were lining both sides of the road, suddenly, the wights that were just a breath away from them fell down with arrows going through their heads.

Gendry exhaled with relief as he felt he was about to fall under the army of the dead, but the reprieve was short-lived as very soon they were swarmed, and he had to continue fighting the dead bodies. It didn't help that he lost track of Arya, having wights all around them, and the rest of their people, who jumped from their hiding places. 

* * *

Arya couldn't see Gendry anymore, but her heart could not afford to worry, as wherever she turned, she could see her loved ones engaged with their monstrous enemy. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya could see men falling, overwhelmed by the wights who tore at their flesh with teeth.

She could only pray to the old gods and the seven in her head, for her father and her brothers, for her uncle and Theon, for the Mormonts, and for Gendry. She made deals with them all, so ensure she didn't have to figure out what it would be like to lose any of them after the battle. 

She couldn't know, but at the very same time, Gendry was making deals with gods he had never believed in or even known. He was sure there were many gods in Essos, and even in lands yet to be discovered. Gods of the storm and the seas, gods of harvests and creation. And gods that reigned the realm of death. 

He prayed to all of them. 

Alongside where he fought, he saw Dace, Alysane, and Lyra Mormont, fighting with strength and grace, and he'd even dare say, with a grin on their faces. These were the warrior women she knew Arya had trained with, and he felt pride and comfort, knowing that if Arya could fight with the same ease as them, she'd surely make to see a new day.

* * *

The last of the corpses was vanquished when Arya's blade sliced cleanly through it, separating the head from the rest of the body, making it fall with a dull thud to the snowy ground.

She looked around, and she noticed how about the same time, everyone was taking on their surroundings, realizing that the battle was finally over, and they had been victorious. 

She moved back and hit a solid wall, that made her turn around, only to find Gendry heaving behind her. 

"We did it," he panted, "didn't we? We won."

Arya smiled at him, and she noticed how suddenly his breathing stilled, and he gathered her in his arms.

"I'm done with this shit," he said, not caring that her family could clearly see them. "Come here, I was promised some kissing."

"I promised nothing," she said, but despite her words, Arya brought her lips to his, and he swallowed her words.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and Gendry lifted her in the air to kiss her more freely.

When they had to part for air, they stayed close, and Arya placed her legs around his hips, not minding how it would look. 

"What was that about you not promising me any kisses?" Gendry asked, still panting. "I seem to recall you saying something about kissing after the battle and mentioning you were agreeable."

"You were the one who decided you were surviving to kiss me some more, and I said that if you were counting on kissing me after the battle, you better not have been planning on treating me like a damsel in distress. That's not the same thing as promising kisses."

"Pardon me, m'lady. Someone I care for a lot keeps telling me I'm stupid. I must have gotten confused. I won't ever kiss you again."

He had said all of that with a massive grin on his face.

"I _am_ agreeable," she added. "But don't let it go to your big bullhead."

"Enough for me," he said, and with a hand on the back of her head, he brought her back to another searing kiss. 

They finally parted when they heard Arya's brothers clearing their throats, but despite their blushing cheeks, neither of them had it in them to feel ashamed for their very public display of affection.

"You better have good intentions towards my sister, _your grace_ ," Robb said with a grin.

"The very best," Gendry replied, brushing his fingers over his swollen lips, and noticing how Arya was throwing daggers at her brothers. 

Seeing her father and uncle Benjen ahead, she said, "I need to check on my father."

"Of course," he replied, but he made sure to squeeze her hand for a second, and he hoped she could read in his eyes all the things that he had never been good at saying, not even to her.

* * *

They didn't have any time to kiss again or even talk, not while their fallen were dealt with, as they had to be burned to avoid more wights rising.

While the imminent threat was stopped, they all knew it wouldn't they couldn't rest until they found what had brought the dead back to life. 

During the long journey back to Winterfell, they only had quick words and longing looks to share.

Renly and Edric teased Gendry all the way to the keep, while Stannis had only said, "Not a bad choice for an alliance."

When they made it back to Winterfell, it was night time, and no one else was waiting for them, but Arya's family. Her mother hugged her for a long time, crying. Gendry left, feeling like he was not entitled to be privy of their reunion. He found his way back to his chambers, and taking only enough time to rid himself of his boots and every stitch of cold, wet clothing he wore, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Gendry woke to the feeling of soft, warm lips against his, and it took him a while to realize that it was not a dream. 

He was still relishing on the feel of her in his arms, wearing only a thin cotton shift, when her voice convinced him she was really there.

"Do not ask me to marry you."

Her words stopped the wandering hands that had become more daring than they should have been.

"I'm sorry about the kissing, and... _the rest_ ," he said, pulling his hands back.

"No, the kissing was just fine, and I was enjoying _the rest_."

Gendry sat up then, making sure to keep the furs in between his naked body and Arya's barely covered one.

"Then, why shouldn't I ask you to marry me? I'm sure your father and your brothers wouldn't want me to keep kissing you... or anything else... without making some promises, and I very much would like to continue kissing you."

"Then kiss me, _stupid_."

Gendry couldn't stop smiling whenever Arya professed to like his kisses. Still, her warning was concerning.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" he asked, and soon the voice in his head gave him some ideas. "Is it because I was born a bastard?"

"No, stupid," she said, straddling his lap, "if anything is the opposite."

"Then, I _am_ really fucking stupid because I do not understand why you wouldn't want us to marry." 

"I've never wanted to be married for a political alliance."

"I thought you knew how I felt about that already," he replied, playing with her long braid. "But I thought this, between us, was different. I've never met anyone like you before. You're my only friend, and I want you in my bed."

"I _am_ your friend, and _I am_ in your bed," she explained, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You must want me dead and gelded."

Arya's response was capturing his lower lip in between her teeth.

"I don't want you to ask me to marry you," she replied as they parted, "because then you'll want me to relinquish my sword and you'll want me to be a proper lady and bear your babes!"

Gendry stared at her for a while, and with a hand on her cheek, he brushed her swollen lip with his thumb.

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed to the babes, but only if you were willing," he said. "But why would I want you to give up your sword when I fell in love with you with one in your hand?"

"You love me?" she asked, and the awe in her eyes made him feel smug but also mad that she didn't know it already.

"I thought it was obvious."

"Not to me," Arya answered with a smile.

"Then who's the stupid one?"

Arya swatted at him, but he captured her wrist.

"You really wouldn't want me to stop sword fighting?"

Gendry circled his hands on her lower back, and he pulled her closer to him.

"The only thing I'm good at is making armor and weapons. Why would I want to take away the sword from the best warrior I've ever known? If you married me, I'd spend the rest of my life forging you swords, each one better than the last."

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"If you can be tempted with steel and my heart, then yes. I must warn you though, if the fat king can't make sure to get his wife with child, you may end up married to the king of the Seven Kingdoms."

"A bribe and a threat," Arya replied, looking up and pretending to be reflecting on his proposal.

"Would it help to know that I plan on abdicating to my brother if that happens?"

"It's a start," she replied, taking his lips in hers again. 

After a long while of kissing, Gendry kept his forehead on Arya's, relishing on the feeling of having the love of his life in his arms, and no threat of death near. 

"We're not done with those things, you know that, right?" Arya whispered against his lips.

"I know, but I'll fight them until the end of my days as long as you are on my side."

"Good," she replied. "Then, it is yes."

"Yes?" he asked, opening his eyes wide with surprise.

"I'll marry you, and I am afraid I do love you as well."

Gendry kissed her then, but the massive grin on his face made it difficult, and soon they were both giggling.

"There is a condition, though," Arya warned him. "You'll have to be quiet."

"About our marriage?" he asked.

"No," she replied with a glint in her eyes as she took off her gauzy shift. "Quiet while I join you under your furs."

Gendry smiled against her lips and whispered, "In that case, we'll marry tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I know that the action could have been much better, but this is as much as I was able to get ready in the time that I had. (I know, I did such a poor job at planning this fic and finding time to write it.)


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